Of Fawkes Masks and Families
by Msynergy
Summary: A fight, an explosion, a hospitalization. Just another day at Warehouse 13.
1. Part 1

_Of Fawkes Masks and Families_

Disclaimer: I wish, but no, I don't own the characters/show.

Author's Note: I adore family dynamics in TV shows, so Artie and Claudia's relationship immediately endeared me to Warehouse 13. Fluffy as heck, but maybe that's needed until Season 4 airs? Would probably fit in the canon around amid Season 1 or 2. Enjoy!

He didn't remember waking up, instead just suddenly having a vague sense of awareness. His senses start to stagger back after that, the sharp smell of antiseptic makes his nose twitch, and the near bone-crushing grip of a hand that could only belong to one Claudia Donovan waking him further to his situation. Those two things together could mean one thing…

Managing to slowly open one eye, his deduction stands, he's in a hospital. Lovely, he hates hospitals. Nothing but bad memories when it comes to hospitals. But no pain, as of yet, which meant that he was still in the grip of some serious painkiller or another. Which also meant when combined with Claudia's grip, and her disheveled head resting fast asleep on the edge of his bed, chair as close as possible, that whatever had happened had been bad. Really bad. They wouldn't have brought him here otherwise.

And then it hits him, the original Guy Fawkes mask, the explosion, Claudia…

And now he can feel it, a slight twinge, but telling nonetheless. At least three cracked ribs and what was definitely a broken leg, not to mention the numerous cuts, burns, and bruises he was sure he was sporting. Just a few more for the collection then.

But just as drugged oblivion was starting to look good again as more and more pain receptors started to stir, his hand must have moved while still trapped in Claudia's as he tried to get comfortable, because suddenly she was wide awake and gaping. Pity too, because she looked like she needed as much sleep as he wanted.

"Artie!"

He was sure if he'd been in better shape she would have tackled him in a suffocating hug right then and there, but instead she simply held on to his hand with both of hers, her grip still too tight.

"Artie, I am so sorry. Really. I had no idea that the mask would react that way and I definitely learned my lesson and I hate myself for getting you hurt and did I mention I'm really sorry?-"

"Claudia, Claudia… Claudia, breathe!"

His voice finally reaches her through her, as she put it "word vomit," and a couple deep breaths later he knew he finally had her attention.

"I'm okay, Claudia, really. The mask only acted the way it did because we were already arguing over something as I recall. You picked it up during said argument and that channeled its power. Granted you should know better than to pick up random artifacts by now, but I know that you did it just to get my goat, and I think you more than succeeded."

"Artie-"

"Ah, ah, let me finish. You might remember that I know a little about you, and I know that you'd never intentionally hurt any of us. I can also say from my own limited experience that parents and children argue from time to time, it's part of being a family. Except the majority of families don't have misbehaving artifacts to escalate their fights even more."

She smiles despite the tears he can see welling up in her eyes, and he thanks whomever's listening that his own social ineptitude hasn't left him in his usual tongue-tied awkwardness this time around. Maybe he was even finally getting better at this whole "father-figure" thing.

His hand squeezes hers this time, and she responds in kind.

"I accept your apology, but don't be so hard on yourself, okay, kiddo?"

The tears finally give way; he's amazed she's lasted as long as she's had, and witnessing that dam break puts every protective, nurturing instinct in him on high alert.

Before he can think about it he's slowly edging away from the side of the bed, leaving just enough room for his purposes. She's watching him with a mix of disbelief and longing, and a simple pat from his now freed hand is all it takes to make her move.

It's a good thing she's so small, he thinks, watching as she carefully settles herself against him, his arm despite his discomfort open to wrap around her.

Discomfort is easily pushed away, however, as her slight weight curls against him, her head on his blanketed shoulder, listening no doubt for his heart's rhythm, assuring herself that he was indeed alive and for the most part well.

He never asked for a daughter, never planned on ever having kids to be honest, but this woman-child had wriggled her way into his life nonetheless, and nurses and doctors be damned if they came in to check on him and demand she leave. She might not be his by blood, but she was his by bond, and that bond no explosive argument could ever break.

"Thank you, Artie," he hears her sleepy whisper as she starts to drift off, and he definitely plans on copying her, but not before he tightens his grip just a little more.

"You're welcome, kiddo."

Myka and Pete find them that way upon their return with donuts and coffee in hand, and Pete can't help the soft "Awww!" that escapes his lips.

"I think they settled their disagreement," Myka smiled.

"It's like those cute pictures with big dogs and kitties sleeping together."

"And you would know because?"

"Well, I-"

The look on Myka's face says it all.

"Oh shut up!"

"I didn't say anything!"

"Yeah, but you were thinking it!"

"I was not!"

"Yes, you were!"

"Oh shut up!"

"No, you shut up!"

"How about you both shut up? Claudia needs her sleep!" The whispered hiss from the hospital bed immediately ends the squabble.

"Sure, sorry, Artie. We'll just be out in the waiting room if you need anything. Leena wanted us to call with updates anyway. Right, Pete?" Myka grimaced, elbowing her partner hard.

"Ow! I mean, yep! Sorry, Artie."

He keeps his signature scowl on for good measure until they scurry out the door like chastised children, apparently he'd become a father of an entire brood without realizing it, before feeling Claudia start to stir.

That wouldn't do.

The lullaby is old, from his childhood and before that, passed on by parents through the years to calm fitful children.

His piano playing far exceeds his vocal abilities, but the song works its magic, Claudia burrowing next to him even more and fast asleep.

Laying his own tired head back on his pillow, he thinks that as far as bad days go, this one ended rather well.


	2. Part 2

_Part 2_

Author's Note: I didn't intend on continuing this fic, but recently Claudia demanded her side of the story and well you just can't say no to that girl can you? Enjoy!

She knows it's in the cards, she just happens to have thrown the deck away a long time ago in denial thank you very much.

But the fact still remains, and recent events have been yet another reminder that either by time or design, one day Artie will be gone.

And she has a feeling that when that day finally comes, she'll be found in the hermetically sealed copy of his room in the Warehouse for weeks, balling her eyes out. Because strange death/disappearance or no, she's gonna need that solace, that reminder of who he was and what he meant to her. She's just incredibly grateful that today is not that day.

But it'd been close. So freaking close. And even curled up against him, falling fast asleep and safe and comforted and dare she say loved, that closeness will haunt her dreams for a while.

They'd been arguing, nothing new there.

She doesn't even remember what about exactly, something stupid in hindsight. What she does remember is that she'd picked up the nearest artifact, not even bothering to check the label, engrossed in using it to state her side and piss him off to the point where she didn't hear the ominous hissing sound coming from said artifact.

It would have been too late if Artie hadn't grabbed the mask and chucked it as far from them as possible before tackling her to the ground, using his own body as a shield against the explosion. The blast sent him flying, leaving her unscathed with her heart in her throat.

"Artie? Artie! ARTIE!" She managed to scream past the pesky organ, scrambling to her feet in a sprint towards the slumped figure amidst several smashed crates. The possible hazardous contents were meaningless, only the man who'd crashed into them mattered.

She froze once she reached him though, beyond scared; he'd been so still. She'd never seen Artie so still, so quiet, even for an old-timer he never truly sat still, and to see him otherwise was truly terrifying. Trembling fingers reached to find a pulse, and she found it, but it was thready, and while he was breathing it was with difficulty.

Pete and Myka found them not minutes later, the explosion had no doubt having caught their attention, but it felt like hours until they got him out of the Warehouse and to Leena's where an ambulance was waiting. The chances of an ambulance actually finding its way to the Warehouse are slim, but for every minute that ticked by she cursed there not being some kind of emergency protocol for such situations. It's when she forced her way into the ambulance, declaring herself to be his daughter, her expression daring the EMTs to fight her, that she'd had the sickening realization that no protocol existed because such incidents must usually result in death. So no emergency services would be required.

He crashed once on the way, the strain of the trip to get him to help almost proving too much, and she tells herself that crying "Dad!" while they worked to revive him was only for show, to confirm that she really was his daughter.

It's an effective lie, and it works all the way through the surgery on his leg and the waiting and over sanitized rooms and hallways that remind her too much of the nut house she'd been in and finally being allowed to see him. But once outside his room she hesitated, she hated hospitals and she knew Artie hated hospitals and the thought of what she might see upon opening that door was almost too much. She'd done this, she was the one to blame, how could she even think she had the right to see him after that?

"Go on, Claudia," Myka had encouraged, nudging her toward the door.

"Myka, I-"

"We get it okay, Claude? We do, but he'll want to see you when he wakes up. You know how he gets, Papa Bear Syndrome and all that," Pete jumped in with a small smile, "We'll be out in the waiting room, c'mon Mykes."

"But I-"

And just like that she'd been left on her own. But her desire to see him overrode the fear of what she'd actually see, and she'd turned the knob with a strength she didn't know she possessed.

And there she'd stayed until he woke up, charming all the nurses into letting her stay well past visiting hours for several days, finishing whatever Warehouse duties were required of her as efficiently as she'd ever done to get more time at the hospital. It got to the point where Judy, the head nurse for Artie's wing, left her sandwiches from the cafeteria, which she ate out of appreciation for the thought and without really tasting because she had a vigil to keep. Mrs. Frederic had stepped in immediately after Artie was hospitalized so Pete and Myka couldn't be there at first, artifacts didn't hunt themselves and all that jazz, but they make it back when it counts.

She won't tell Artie that they did wake her up, though, better not to get him all huffy while he's still in recovery. Plus if they hadn't come in when they had, she never would have gotten to hear his lullaby. It's sweet and soft and everything she wishes she could remember her parents doing, but she has it now, and she can't be sad about it coming so late. Because he's forgiven her, and he's alive, and they're family, and that's all that counts.


End file.
